Rise of a Cowboy
by Faeriefire
Summary: Five years after the trial of Lana Skye, events start turning that push Jake Marshall into cleaning up and taking up his gun again.


First of all, I would like to thank you for even opening this. I don't imagine there's a lot of Jake Marshall lovers, but I for one finding myself loving him more and more. Anyway, not really sure where all this came from, but here's this. For some reason I'm thinking it might end up being the start of something bigger.

I hope you enjoy, and thank you again for reading.

Please, if you have any comments, suggestions about my writing, or feedback, please leave it. I really enjoy every comment I get, and they can help me grow.

Now without further ado.

* * *

It had been almost five years now since that trial had happened. Those days when that nightmare of SL-9 was finally put to rest and so many suffering from that ongoing feverish dream could finally wake. Jake Marshall still wasn't proud of the things he had done. He wasn't proud he had attacked another officer, that he had impersonated a detective, and also that he had attempted theft. That was the past now though, and he had payed for his sins on that day.  
That trial when Phoenix Wright had uncovered the truth in the evidence locker room had landed him in three years of prison. It was in a way just a slap on the wrist, but the damage it had left on his record forever would always be there. Tarnishing his dignity and honor he had one held and was broken by Gant and his demotion from detective.

When Jake came home from his security guard job, a newspaper rolled up under his arm, there was a look in his eye. It was a mixture of rage, confusion, and pain. When he slapped down the paper onto his kitchen table and went to his fridge to find something to eat it was clear why. On the front page of the local paper there was an article with Damon Gant's picture. As ever he had a piercing stare, even through the photo and print. The caption over it read, "Ex-Chief of Police released on probation." The actual article had quotes from different people defending Gant's character. They were people of high power, bragging about how Gant had turned over a new leaf, that in prison he had been showing what it was to be an ideal model of society. There was without that these people were the ones who had pulled the strings for this. There was no way he should have ever been released in Jake's book, but then again, it was turning out to be a cold day in hell.

The old cowboy scratched at his stubble as he stared blankly into the back of his refrigerator. Like every cabinet in this house, it was empty. There was a piece of molding cheese in plastic wrap, a bottle of water, and some potatoes he hadn't remembered ever putting there. The fact they were starting to look like some science project was a sign that they were beyond an expiration date. With a sigh, he closed it and retreated to the freezer, staring at his collection of frozen TV dinners. They were as cheap as they came, and they were all the same meal. Spaghetti with meatballs, a favorite gone wrong. He knew pasta should be fresh from noodle to sauce like his grandmother long ago had taught him. Any more though he just didn't have the drive to cook.  
Pulling out a dinner, he opened the box a crack as the instructions directed and set it in the microwave. He punched in the time for it to cook and set it to go. Knowing he would need a fork, he checked the drawer to see if he had any left. Like every other eating utensil, there was none in there. He looked over at his sink that was piled high with used dishes and silver ware that had been un-touched for days, maybe weeks. What was the point? It's not like he had anyone over any more, he wasn't impressing the ladies, and his friends... Him and Angel Starr were nothing. Their relationship had been as shallow as they came. Sex and connections, after the trial they had became meaningless to each other. Jake had nothing she wanted, and she wasn't going to give him the attention his body craved. Ema was in another country now, his little bambina... She had grown so much, but he did miss her. Diego Armando, his old collage buddy was still snoozing with his alarm button off, Mia Fey was of course dead much to his regret. And Lana... Well, she was a painful subject.

Looking at the sink of dishes pissed him off more then anything. In the end though, he did nothing to help fix the problem. They would go uncleaned for another day. He would just pick out a fork from the mess, wash it off real quick, and re-use it as he had multiple times now. He just kept opening that drawer hoping to find someone had cleaned them for him.  
The microwave beeped, and he went to check his food. He found no steam pouring from the container, in fact the dinner was still frozen. His frustration growing, he slammed the microwave door hard and doubled the time recommended. When had his life become this? He use to live so freely, he had even had dreams of settling with a wife and kids. He could come home from a day at the police department, proudly living his dream as a detective. Coming into the door his kids could circle him like Indians around a wagon train in a house he had worked hard to provide for them. There waiting for him would be his loving wife, who would give him a kiss, tell him she loved him. They would have a home cooked dinner together, Jake would have helped with the kids, getting their homework finished and putting them to bed. Then his wife and him would make beautiful love until they fell asleep.  
That was a dream though, probably the same white picket fence every red blooded American had. Much like those millions of other Americans, he had failed to reach those dreams. He was living in a home he rented and was struggling to keep. He was living off processed food, he had no wife with family, and hell, he was relationship-less to boot. When it boiled down to it, he was alone in this world.

The microwave beeped again, snapping him out of his thoughts. Once again he checked his food and found it frozen again. Frustrated again and moodier then a teenager high on hormones, he cursed loudly as he took out his frustration on his dinner and the microwave by throwing the frozen brick at the appliance. It hit with a heavy thunk, but neither seemed to have been defeated.  
Jake pulled off his head and sat it onto the table, over the face on the paper. This was not a good day, he needed a break, he needed an escape.

Jake had a tradition when he was feeling this way. He would pull out that bottle of whiskey his hid from his drunken self, an area he only remembered when he was sober, and pulled out two glasses. He sat them on a coffee table by his favorite chair and pulled out a picture of his little brother Neil.

Stilling Neil in front of one glass, he poured them both some of the stout liquid. He toasted the glasses before taking a drink and talking.  
He didn't talk about anything in particular at first. It was just like a normal conversation had Neil really been sitting there in front of him. Jake talked about his day, what he had been up to, about anything interesting he had seen. He would answer questions that came to his mind as if Neil was asking them himself, and he would laugh at the end of some stories that he would have known his little brother would have laughed at. This was as close to having him around as he could have any more.

These moods were not a good thing though, they were always triggered by something. May it be depression or anger, this was just Jake's way of coping with things. In the past he would have sat down with Neil and talked about it with him. The two of them should have been twins. Jake the brawn and Neil the brains. No matter how old Jake had been, he knew talking to Neil, that he would be given a resolution that would work every time. Now that he was gone though…. Well, Jake felt lost more often then ever.

"He's out again Neil…" Jake finally started, staring into his glass, "The bastard is out again an' there's nothing I can do about it. If prison can't hold 'im…. If the law can't find a way to hold 'im I don't know what to do. Why are things no longer black an' white Neil?…." He bowed his head, trying to keep his voice calm.  
"Remember when we were kids an' we stayed at Miss. Cooper's? All those ol' Westerns we use ta watch?….. Why can't things be like that? Just good an' bad guys, the bad guys never winnin'."

He drained his glass and poured himself another with a shaky hand. He needed to stop drinking, he just never had the courage to do so. It had been this way for years now. It was sad something that just use to be a hobby was now slowly poisoning him into an early grave. Maybe though, that is what he had been hoping for all this time.

"Lana's back too…. Finally got out." He took a sip and ran his fingers though his hair, " She's prettier then ever… I don't think she even knows how I feel about her still…. I…" He looked up at Neil's smiling photo, and he broke down. He felt ashamed as hot tears started forming and he rubbed them away quickly. "Sorry, I won't do this again…. I just… Neil, why is it so lonely?"  
Just as every time he spoke to Neil's photo though, there was no answer….. There would never be again, this was the bitter truth. One that stung Jake deeper even more then corruption in a system he naïvely use to believe in, more then broken hearts from a relationship gone wrong.

This is why he drank though. He knocked back another glass and he started to forget that his brother wasn't talking back, that he had cares, worries, fears. He forgot his broken heart for a few more hours, and he would live on. This was the only reason why he was still living. Or was it? Maybe he had an angel smiling down on him right now from heaven. Or maybe, just maybe, he was smiling up at him from a picture.


End file.
